The Cup of Darkness
by LoverGurrl411
Summary: "It was dark. But she was the light. She'd always been the light, since the moment she saved his life when she was thirteen. She would always be the light. Even as the darkness surrounded him from behind the veil." (Sirius/Hermione) Slightly dark. EWE.
1. The Fall and Rise

Disclaimer – I own nothing.

A.N. – So, this story has been in my folder for a while now, and my soul has been itching to write and upload a Sirius/Hermione story. It's summer, and though I'm taking a summer class, I should have a lot of free time still (crossed fingers), so I'm shooting for an update every two weeks for this story. For all those who read TST too and are wondering, I haven't forgotten it. It's in the works, promise. Anywho, hope everyone enjoys!

 _/To the fissures that keep us divided_

 _Can't hold on the quiet_

 _Can't keep me away_

 _Set me free/_

 _-_ Nail, Zola Jesus

Chapter 1 – The Fall and Rise

Sirius wasn't the boat in the middle of the ocean, sinking as thunder lit the sky and lightning crashed against the waves of desperate hope, reckless courage, dutiful pride, and too much heart; he was the wave.

He was the wave, and he was magnificent; he was magnificent as he fluidly bounced and danced about the Department of Mysteries, wand lighting up the room in magical colors, his smile dark and disturbed as he battled Bellatrix, heart pounding as Harry yelled, and Hermione was on the floor, eyes closed, body unmoving; he was the wave as the lightning pierced the surface, his body no longer the body he'd always known as it floated back, behind a mirror, behind _the veil_ , and suddenly everything was dark.

Everything was dark and disturbed, the cries of lost souls tearing at him, clawing at him in the darkness. But there were whispers. They were barely there, but he knew that voice.

It was dark. But she was the light. She'd always been the light, since the moment she saved his life when she was thirteen. She would always be the light. Even as the darkness surrounded him from behind the veil.

Every once in a while he could follow this voice to the light, and he could see what he'd lost, if only he could remember.

" _This is my fault!"_

" _No, this isn't, Harry! Sirius's death is Bellatrix's fault—Voldemort's fault, but not yours. You didn't do this."_

" _You told me it was a trap. You warned me, Hermione, and I didn't listen. I never listen, and now he's gone. He's gone and he's never coming back."_

" _Harry…"_

" _He was all the family I had, 'Mione. He was all I had left."_

" _I know—"_

" _How could you know? I know how you felt about him—how you disapproved—"_

" _Don't you think I miss him too? You spent a few weeks with him in the summer at a time—I was there with him all summer! Months, I spent in Grimmauld Place with just him, while the Weasleys were off visiting Charlie in Romania. You think we never talked? You think there weren't days when I needed to talk? He was there. I might not have approved of the drinking, and the sneaking out thoughtlessly, but he was there. So don't y-you d-dare tell me I don't m-miss him just because he wasn't my family."_

"' _Mione…"_

 _He didn't apologize and she didn't expect him to. They were best friends, and they didn't need to—not when they were wracked with grief. Together, they wept._

He felt this incessant need to comfort them, to tell them not to cry, but he wanted to cry, too. He was the one they were mourning, right? He was the one who was dead? But he didn't want to die. He didn't want to be in this forever darkness that clung to him like everything that was wrong in the world.

" _What are we supposed to do now?"_

" _Ron!"_

" _What? It's a valid question, Hermione! Yeah, Dumbledore's gone, but we're not. So, what do we do?"_

" _We search for the Horcrux's—that's what we do. We need to end this. Before anyone else gets hurt."_

" _And we will, Harry, but it's okay to grieve right now. We buried the greatest wizard to ever live—it's okay to grieve that, to mourn him, even with everything going on. It's wrong not to."_

" _There's so much to do, to get done before I can face Voldemort."_

" _And we'll get it done, mate. We'll get it done_ together _, but Hermione's right. It doesn't have to be today. I'm sorry I brought it up."_

" _It still feels unreal. He's_ Dumbledore _, right? He doesn't get to die—I just—I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss the feeling that if something went wrong, I knew I—any of us—could run to him. I'm going to miss feeling like nothing could_ really _touch us, that everything would work out in the end. Because how could we lose with him in our corner? H-how? I just—I d-don't know how we got here, a-and it's n-not fair. It's n-not_ right _. He wasn't_ allowed _to die."_

 _Ron put his arms around Hermione's shoulder, tears stinging his eyes, and laid a strong hand on Harry's shoulder, as sadness swept them in her gloomy embrace. They were support and unconditional devotion in their grief._

He couldn't touch them, but he wanted to. She was the light, and she was in pain. _They_ were in pain because her pain felt like his. This young boy's pain felt suffocating. Harry, she'd called him. Harry, Harry, Harry—the name tore at him, but the light was too far, too dim. He couldn't reach it and the darkness swallowed him whole.

" _We can't stay here, Harry. We have to be careful while we're hunting horcrux's—we've already been in this spot too long."_

" _It's trees and grass, Hermione. We've already warded ourselves. Not much difference between this spot and one two miles away."_

" _Ron's right, Hermione. There really isn't much different. Not until we find another horcrux. We just destroyed another one. We need a break."_

" _You both say that because clearly common sense isn't very common! There is most definitely a difference. The difference is that if someone keys into our apparition, and follow us here, they'd get the sense that we're here often. If they know that then they have a pretty decent way to track us down—"_

" _Think they have plenty of ways now."_

" _Oh, bother!_

 _Hermione scowled, while Harry and Ron laughed, and it was so normal that it almost felt right. The calm before the storm._

Their laughter was like the sweetest balm, and their triumph felt like his triumph—he wanted to smile but there was no smiling in this in between. There was no smiling in this silence that wasn't so silent with the whispers of ghosts and tortured souls.

" _Where is it? Where'd you hide it?"_

" _We didn't take it—I didn't take it!"_

" _Liar! Crucio!"_

" _Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"_

" _Don't lie to me, Mudblood—I know you stole it!"_

" _Please, stop—stop! I don't have it!"_

 _Her screams, so full of pain, so full of life, drifted and silenced all the world._

Her cries of pain stabbed him, and gripped him. She was the light, _forever_ , even when she bled her agony into the darkness.

" _We did it, Harry."_

" _Yeah, we did, mate. It's done."_

" _It's done. We survived, together."_

 _They smiled at each other, tears of exhaustion and joy joining the soiled ground of the battle of Hogwarts._

These moments of light, of warmth seeped into him. He almost felt whole, except the souls were clawing at him, and the light was too far. Always too far.

* * *

Hermione stood, silent, in Orion Black's study in Grimmauld Place; the room was barely touched—no one had bothered with the room during the war, and now that Voldemort was dead but the war was still raging, no one could be bothered to care still. It was a small favor, one of the few rooms in Grimmauld Place that hadn't been swept clean of Dark Objects.

Her face was clean for the first time in days; she couldn't be bothered to shower the first two days after the battle of Hogwarts, none of them could. It'd been too surreal, too heartbreaking that though they won, they hadn't _really_ won. There were too many dead for the Light side to count it as a victory. There were too many still dying in revels and initiations for anyone to count the Light and Government victorious.

But still, in here, in this room full of the past, she felt as though she could breathe. She felt as though there was hope.

In this room, where the past was the present, she could see how the house had imprinted itself on Sirius, his soul while he'd been alive. It had been in the darkness in his eyes, the kind that spoke of unresolved anger and bitterness.

She let her hands touch the surface of the mahogany desk, the cushion of the black leather chair, the dust covered book of Medieval rituals that were written in Ancient Runes.

She touched everything in sight, let her thoughts fill with the image of Sirius smiling as a child at a father he hadn't learned to hate yet, laughing at a brother he hadn't learned to resent yet, at a mother whose anger was more amusing than hurtful at the time. Hermione let her thoughts conjure an image of a man who'd been only thirty-six when he'd died—so youthful, yet so old.

Her hands collected dust as she touched and touched, picturing the man she'd come to desire to understand, if for no other reason than because he was supposed to have all the answers, and he'd had none.

She wondered if that was the true testament of growing up—learning that you actually knew nothing. But she shook her head. She refocused—his brilliant and mischievous smile filling her mind as she remembered how hearty his laugh had been, though he'd spent twelve years in the presence of dementors.

Hermione remembered the sadness in his eyes as he hugged Harry after Cedric had died, the rage that shook his hands as he went for the bottle at the fact that Voldemort had returned. She remembered his wild smirk and surprised eyes as he went sailing like an angel softly behind the veil-

Hermione pricked her finger accidentally. Her blood dropped into a cup, more and more; the cup, ostentatious and ornate with its golden handle and ruby studied sides, lit up.

She remembered what she read. _The Cup retrieved what was lost_. At a cost, because magic never gave something without taking something in return.

She could feel her soul rip— _tear_.

She fell to her knees.

Maybe it hadn't been so accidental after all.

Maybe she simply convinced herself that it'd been accidental, because her self-righteous Gryffindor heart couldn't believe that she'd perform such dark magic on purpose.

* * *

Through the darkness, the light reached out to him, and Sirius touched the soul that belonged to _her._ It encircled him, until the whispers and the claws were driven away, until his own soul screeched and latched on to the light—the pain was almost too much to bear, too much to witness because this wasn't his body, not the body he'd always known.

Except, with a throbbing _thump_ , it was his body again.

He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He could feel the darkness that had taken root inside of him settle.

He could _feel_ —for the first time since his fall, Sirius felt warm, truly warm, and fell back into time.

He fell back into time, and shakily rose to his feet because he was a Black, and his home was calling to him.

* * *

So what do you guys think? Interested? Liked it? Hated it? Let me know and Review! *Reviews are love*


	2. Of Time and Heartbeats

Disclaimer – I own nothing

A.N – So, I seem to be on a roll with writing this story right now, so here's an update a week earlier than anticipated. Hope everyone enjoys!

Thanks so much for everyone that's favorited and followed. To **GeekMom13** , **sierraray38** , **Guest** , **pgoodrichboggs** , and **JayBat:** You guys rock and I'm glad the story is interesting so far. Hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint.

/ _Bad blood come and go, but you're still coming home_

 _Ain't no mountain tall, tall enough, baby,_

 _We rise, we fall_ /

-Be Your Love, Bishop Briggs

Chapter 2 – Of Time and Heartbeats (The Rise and Fall pt. 2)

Hermione's hands shook. They shook like lovers that'd danced all night, like happiness on the wind colliding with tress. Her hands shook like she was lost, wondering, perpetually leaving but unwilling to go because she was waiting for _him_.

 _Did it work?_

But nothing changed. The air around her still felt stale, and the blood that had pooled in the cup was still there.

She turned in a circle, looking for signs. Maybe…maybe…maybe…

But nothing was different, and there was an ache in her chest and stomach. _She failed._

It was a pain she wasn't truly accustomed to—even when they'd been captured by Bellatrix and taken to Malfoy Manor, she hadn't truly failed. She'd known, somewhere in her heart, that it wasn't over. She'd known that miracles were within her grasp because she was Hermione Granger, and her friends were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and they _always_ won, because, well, they were _them_.

At the time, irrational though it might have been, that was all she'd needed.

Now, with the stale air of old pains and past ghosts attempting to choke her, it wasn't enough.

" _Do you ever feel like you don't know yourself" Hermione had asked one night at Grimmauld Place._

 _Everyone had been sleeping, the darkness caressing her skin. It'd been the summer after their third year, and everyone felt like there was renewed hope, now that the truth of Sirius Black was uncovered for the Order._

Hermione stepped away from the invisible force, but the memory wouldn't let her go.

 _Her hand had been still on her lap, her legs crossed on the old sofa. Sirius sat across from her, staring intently into the fire, as though he'd been looking for all the answers to questions that he'd never knew existed._

" _You feel like that pretty often in Azkaban," Sirius took a sip of a glass of whiskey he'd poured himself when he'd come down to see he wasn't alone. It was his savior—only he hadn't felt saved at all. After the euphoria of uniting with Remus and Harry had come and gone, all he'd been left with was a crippling disappointment._

 _He'd lost thirteen years of his life, and nothing was ever going to make that okay._

" _I'm sorry," Hermione had whispered, but she knew it wasn't enough. He knew it too, so instead he took another sip._

" _What's on your mind, Kitten?"_

 _Hermione had pursed her lip at the unbecoming nickname he'd taken to calling her, but couldn't hold her anger. "I hit Malfoy."_

" _When?"_

" _A few weeks ago—back when me and Harry saved Buckbeak. The same day," she wanted to stop talking, stop breathing, but she couldn't. She'd needed it out, the truth that she hadn't told Harry or Ron, the truth that she hadn't allowed herself to accept. "I've known the prat since we were eleven, and he's always been who he is. He hasn't changed. Even his insults are standard for him, and us. But when I hit him, it felt like I'd betrayed him somehow—like I'd betrayed myself."_

 _Sirius had sat silently, sipping his drink, taking in the way the firelight cast shadows on her skin. Those shadows danced and jumped on her skin and eyes—they were illuminating and enchanting._

 _He was transfixed, and he embraced the sudden calm that he'd been chasing all night._

" _Didn't think you were capable of hitting someone?"_

" _Didn't think I could ever enjoy it," she said shamefully. She couldn't bear to look at him. She couldn't stand to hear his rebuke, but he didn't rebuke her._

" _The first time I hit someone I was 8 years old," he admitted. He should've been ashamed, but he hadn't been, couldn't be, because he'd finally found some kind of peace, and he was too selfish to let morality ruin it for him. "It was my brother, Reggie—Regulus. He'd stole my toy, and I was furious—well, as furious as an eight year old can get really, but he had looked at me so defiantly. Like he was some avenging angel saving the toy from me, and I snapped. I hit him. I hit him, and I hit again. I just kept hitting him, until our father walked in with uncle Alphard, and they pulled me off him."_

" _What happened?" Hermione asked, but she could already guess._

 _Heirs to Pureblood houses were raised to believe that the Earth trembled underneath their feet. It wasn't a secret, and she could already picture the scene—Regulus filled with black and blue patches on his cheek and chest to match his grey eyes._

" _My father asked me how I felt," he took another sip, and closed his eyes as though he could see yesterday. As though he could transport himself to the past so effortlessly. "I told him that I felt powerful, like a king against rebelling peasants—y'know how kid's imagination run wild. But, deer old daddykins didn't falter, didn't tell me that I should apologize. That it was wrong to attack the weak. Instead, he didn't spare a glance at Reggie, and just nodded his head at me, and said that I was shaping up to be a good heir."_

 _Hermione hadn't known what to say. She should've been surprised, but she wasn't. Even more importantly, she hadn't been sure what his experience had to do with hers._

 _Sirius had seen the confusion in her eyes, and smiled darkly. It sent shivers down her arms._

" _Don't you see? I was a kid, eight years old, and I enjoyed beating up on someone that I was supposed to protect. Do you think I'm evil?"_

" _Of course not!" Hermione straightened, her natural instinct to comfort taking over._

" _Then how could you be evil for enjoying punching the boy who's tormented you for the last three years?"_

 _His logic was solid, and irrefutable, but Hermione couldn't help herself._

" _It's not about being evil though, is it? There was something—I can't put my finger on it, but there was_ something _there, between me and Malfoy, and I betrayed that. Whatever it was. I betrayed that, and I could see it in his eyes. The second I hit him, I knew I'd crossed a line, and that we could never go back to before that moment. We're never going to be the same."_

 _Sirius understood, while not understanding at all, but he hadn't needed to. It wasn't necessary._

" _Maybe," he said honestly, his eyes intent upon her, heartbeat steady in his chest on such a hot night. "But you'll still have me, Kitten. You'll still have me."_

The memory broke, and Hermione's eyes burned with unshed tears. It'd been their first honest conversation, without anyone around to judge them—her for the twisted things she'd felt toward Malfoy, and him for bearing his soul to a little girl, and allowing himself to find some sort of peace in her presence.

She blinked back the tears, and straightened her shoulders. She might have failed, but it was a long shot anyway. She'd known it when she pricked her finger _accidentally_.

Hermione shook her heard violently, and tried to get the picture of his somber gaze out of her head. She tried to erase the image of him freshly shaved, and smiling down at her in the kitchen. She tried to run away from the memory of Sirius' hand, hot and constant, _innocent_ yet promising, against her cheek.

She remembered all the innocent moments that were everything in the darkness, and nothing to anyone else.

But she couldn't deal with that. Not with the pain of her failure so fresh in her mind.

Instead, she braced herself against the doorframe, focused solely on breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Breathe. But it was so hard, too hard.

She opened the door, and light flooded her eyes.

" _Are you happy?" Hermione had asked him one summer day after Fourth Year. Everyone was at the Weasley's; it had been only Hermione, Sirius, and the ever present silence and heat in the kitchen at Grimmauld place._

" _I don't know," Sirius whispered. "I know I wish I were. I should be. Anything's better than Azkaban, really, but…"_

" _But there's something missing," she filled in for him. She understood that gap because she felt it too sometimes._

" _Yeah," he walked around the table, stood behind her chair, put his hands on the back of her chair, and let his head fall to the top of hers, her curls cushioning his forehead. Hermione closed her eyes, and let a feeling of calm wash over her. Sirius closed his eyes with her and quietly said, "Sometimes there_ is _something missing, but sometimes there's not, and it's all okay."_

 _Sirius kissed the crown of her head chastely, swiftly, and swept out of the room, the echo of his words chasing him._

It had been innocent, yet it had been _anything but_ simultaneously because her stomach had jumped, and something in her belly had coiled tight; Hermione felt like she was drowning as she walked downstairs, the feeling of his lips against her hair submerging her in the past

The lights were too bright, and the laughter was too happy for a day that she'd _failed_. Of course, no one knew what she'd done. No one knew what she'd let herself do, and so no one could miss the possibility of him.

It felt like she was grieving Sirius all over again—his smile, and sadness, his pain and laughter, his darkness and light. She was trapped in hope, and she wanted to scream.

"Hey, 'Mione," Harry looked up from his seat at the kitchen table. His eyes that had filled with laughter at something George had said swam with worry now. "You okay?"

 _You okay_? Could she say maybe?

 _Hermione had been sitting in the common room during the middle of Fifth Year, late at night, watching as Harry spoke quietly to Sirius via their mirror. She'd heard Harry say he'd be right back, and he had ran upstairs like lightning._

 _She knew she should've stayed in place, but she couldn't help herself. She could see that the link was still open. Waiting. There._

 _Her hands picked up the mirror, and Sirius's face swam in her vision—his dark and wild hair framing his face, his grey eyes piercing her, his beard longer than she'd ever seen it._

" _I hate your beard," she'd growled, and instantly blushed. She had meant to say hello, first._

" _I hate that you're in that school with that toad of a woman," Sirius quipped lightly. "Guess we're even."_

" _So you've heard?"_

" _Who hasn't, kitten?" Sirius raised an eyebrow in that imperiously Pureblood way, and Hermione scoffed at him. She sort of hated him too, because he was so far, and she was so helpless under Umbridge._

" _What do you think we should do?" she questioned quietly. She'd wanted to hear him say that she should fight. She'd wanted to hear him say that she should run. Anything but tell her to stand still._

" _Keep your heads down," he'd said seriously. "The best thing you three can do is not make waves."_

 _Hermione wanted to tell him he was a hypocrite, but she could her Harry's steps on the stairs, and so she roughly put the mirror back where it was._

"Hermione?" Harry said her name as he slowly stood up.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him that _no_ , she wasn't okay, and that was perfectly okay, too. Her best friend would understand, even if he didn't really.

But there was a terrifying _clack_ of thunder, and Hermione half-turned turned; her mind had conjured the image of Sirius, the day he'd arrived at the Department of Mysteries, ready to save them. His hair windswept, his clothes wrinkled, his annoying beard on display.

She could see him so clearly, especially his eyes that burned her. His eyes tore at something in her chest, but suddenly it was like she wasn't drowning, but swimming, and the ocean was just a boardwalk full of possibilities; just the mirage of him did that to her.

"What the _fuck_?" Harry shouted, and sprang into action, wand whipping out to attack Sirius. And suddenly Hermione was all too aware of how _real_ Sirius was.

He was there.

He _existed_.

She hadn't failed, and his mere existence was like the greatest balm on her soul.

But George and Harry were already yelling out the beginnings of curses, and so Hermione did the only thing she could do— _"Immobilus!_ "

Everyone froze.

Eyes were full of panic, but Hermione could care less at the moment.

All she could see was Sirius, and she wanted to cry and tell him that she'd missed him. Maybe too much, maybe like she shouldn't have.

"You're shaving that damned beard," Hermione growled at him, and her face instantly lit up in shame and embarrassment. She'd meant to say _hello_ first.

Though he was frozen, there was laughter in Sirius's eyes, and Hermione felt her belly coil like it had so long ago. Sirius' eyes, focused solely on her, so mischievous and alive, made her feel like a woman.

He was the air, and she—she could finally, _finally_ , breathe.

* * *

So, what do you guys think? I'm trying to establish a history between Hermione and Sirius without making him a creepy pedophile because she was thirteen/fourteen at the time. Hope that worked out well! Anywho, liked it? Hated it? Let me know and Review *Reviews are love*


	3. Questions, Answers, and Masks

Disclaimer – I own nothing.

A.N – Thanks so much for the lovely support guys! Seriously it means so much to know others are enjoying this work. I'm sure you guys are noticing a running theme with the style of these songs and topics – feel free to give any suggestions!

On another note, I'm trying to establish Sirius and Hermione as two adults with an added dynamic of darkness thrown in now due to the spell versus an adult and an innocent teen, so I hope I didn't make them too intense or weird. Either way I hope everyone enjoys!

To **JayBat** , **Shola2001** , **Guest** , **GeekMom13** , **Fanfiction Addict Princess** , **pgoodrichboggs** , and **Msmalloryreads** : Your reviews have honestly been so entertaining and full of support that I've reread them a few times while writing this chapter. You guys are amazing, and I love hearing your reactions and thoughts! You make my heart warm! :)

/ _And if you fall, if you fall_

 _Hold my hand—ooh, baby, it's a long way_

 _Down to the bottom of the river/_

-Bottom of the River, Delta Rae

Chapter 3 – Questions, Answers and Masks

"I'm going to let everyone go, but you can't attack each other," Hermione said firmly, though she could see the confusion and disbelief in everyone's eyes. Sirius' were full of humor, which only made her scowl further.

She was on edge, though she didn't know why.

"I don't understand" Harry said the second he was released.

"I second that," Ron said slowly, as he walked in and looked about dumbfounded.

"I…did something. It's real," Hermione said breathlessly. It was sinking in, settling in her bones. "He's real."

Harry's eyes filled with hope, but they've been through too much to let hope rule them.

"We need proof."

She nodded once, and turned to Sirius. He'd been silent up until this point, simply basking in the feel of _feeling_ again. He'd missed that beyond the veil. He'd missed a lot of things.

Hermione went to ask about his patronus, but then paused. His patronus wasn't a secret. She needed to ask him a question only he would know the answer to—not even Ron or Harry. She reached for the closest memory—

"The summer after third year, we had a conversation—I was upset. What did we talk about?"

Everyone waited, heartbeats jumping and skipping in anxiety. Their stomachs rolled and George was secretly hoping that it was true and whatever Hermione did, she could do for Fred too.

"Secrets," he whispered, his gravelly voice filled the room and his baritone might as well have shook the earth for the reaction it caused. "We talked about secrets and shame and change."

It was the truth. It was his truth, and Hermione smiled; his answer was spectacularly Marauder—he'd told the complete truth without giving any details.

The second Harry saw Hermione smile he knew this was Sirius—truly and miraculously alive. But—

"Tell me a secret," Harry demanded without thought.

It was a game he and Sirius used to play. If he was confused, or had to think about his answer then he wasn't Sirius. Harry knew he could trust Hermione's test, but he needed more. More proof. More time to wrap his mind around the _possibility_ —

Sirius grinned in that relaxed and leisurely way of his. But his eyes were tender.

"It's okay for a man to cry, sometimes. A man _should_ cry for what he loves. If he doesn't, then he's not a man. Or he's never loved."*

He was alive. It worked. Hermione wanted to walk over and hug him, but Harry was already wrapping the man in his arms.

"What did you do?" George asked with his heart in his throat. _Please, please, please_ —Hermione could see the plea in his mind.

"I'm sorry, George," she reached for him gently and laid her palm on his arm. "Nothing can bring the dead back."

"But you brought Sirius back." Ron made the statement like an accusation, but Hermione knew he was hurting. This was his brother they were talking about. This was their blood.

"Sirius was never dead," she said simply, but there was an intensity behind her words that caused Harry to step away from Sirius (though he kept a firm hand on him as though he'd disappear) and look at Hermione. "He _never died_. He was just— _lost_."

"I think we need to sit down," Harry ran his fingers through his hair.

Everyone nodded, and so George, Harry, Ron, Sirius, and Hermione sat down at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place as though he'd never left.

"How am I here, Kitten?" Sirius said quietly but everyone heard him as though he'd shouted it. It was a question they all wanted answered.

She could give them the simple version, or the whole truth. But truth was like riding a high in the middle of a snow storm-too much, too fast, and too damn dangerous.

The truth could shatter the way Harry and Ron saw her, and she didn't want that. Not now, not ever.

"I used the cup in your father's study."

The second the words left her mouth, she saw recognition in his eyes and the despair that glittered like diamonds.

"Wait—what's the cup? I thought there wasn't a way to bring Sirius back," Harry questioned Hermione without restraint. "Dumbledore said there wasn't a way— _You said_ back at the end of Fifth Year that there wasn't a way."

"It was the truth, back then," she sighed. Half-truths would have to be enough. "The cup in the study, it brings back what was lost. And Sirius was lost, beyond the veil that no one knows much about."

"So there _was_ a way—you _lied_?" He scowled incredulously because he couldn't believe his best friend, the one person he trusted _most_ in the world would do that to him. He couldn't. He _wouldn't_ believe that. Not of Hermione. Especially not of her. "There has to be more than that."

"It's not as simple," she looked down at place mats that had seen better days. "You could only retrieve _one_ thing that was lost. The cup only works once every fifty years. Kind of like batteries—I guess it needs time to recharge. I don't know. But if Sirius wasn't the one thing you wanted _most_ to be retrieved, we'd have lost our chance to bring him back."

It was mostly a lie, and the way Sirius raised his eyebrow told her he knew it too. Anyone could use the cup at any time, as long as they were willing to pay the price. But it was _supremely_ dark magic. It was why she'd never told Harry—because back then he'd been desperate and would have gone through with it. But there was no guarantee that Sirius would be what the cup brought—that much was true; if Sirius hadn't been what Harry wanted _most_ in the world to be retrieved, then he would have paid the price for nothing. Or for something else.

Back then, she thought she could find another way.

But at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, once everything was said and done, Hermione knew she didn't care to search anymore. It was a price she was willing to pay _ten times over. For him._

"Why wouldn't he have been what I wanted most?" Harry felt like he was a fish out of water. Sirius, in his silence, felt similarly. He didn't think he was worth _that_.

Hermione shrugged. That was her best answer, because telling the truth wasn't an option.

"Okay," Harry laid his hands flat on the table, as though the world were tilting on its axis and he could force himself not to readjust with it. Maybe he could. Or perhaps it didn't matter at all. "So, this is real— _holy fuck_ , okay, what now?"

Ron smiled, and his eyes sparkled with a Weasley mischievousness that made Hermione's heart warm. "Just pretend that Sirius falling through the veil didn't happen. The ministry pretends that things don't happen all the time. Why can't we? Who's going to prove it anyway? It's not like there was a body. It's not like _they_ were there."

"And for the people who _were_ there?" Sirius asked, though he slowly nodded as he ran through the scenario.

George coughed awkwardly, and the Golden trio realized after a moment why; except for the those their own age, every adult who had been there that fateful day was either dead, imprisoned, or a Death Eater.

Who was going to tell Sirius that Remus was dead? That his cousin, Tonks, went down fighting next to the love of her life? Who was going to tell him that Dumbledore, the only safety net they'd all known was buried six feet under, and had been for more than a year now?

Not Ron apparently, who stood abruptly—"I've got to take a piss."

"Okay…" Sirius watched him leave the room, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I should go check on things back home," Fred stood more gracefully, and clapped Sirius on the shoulder as he passed.

Then there were three. But Harry was already so torn—he didn't have the heart to break his godfather down with the fate of others. Hermione saw this, and nodded subtly to him.

He understood.

Harry locked eyes with Sirius as he stood, and this time Sirius stood too. He stood tall, like there was a new fire in his veins that demanded it of him.

"Pup," Sirius whispered with a sad smile, and Harry hugged him hard—the kind where one arm was wrapped across one shoulder and the other pounded on the back.

They stood like that for a moment, just godfather and godson.

Together. At _last_.

Harry wiped discreetly at his eyes, and left swiftly—probably to cry his relief in "manly" solitude.

Then there were two.

But neither minded because this felt like this was the way it was supposed to be.

* * *

"So," Sirius removed the space between them after minutes of suffocating silence and unspoken history clashing in their chests. They were so close that her front brushed against his chest; the hair on her arms and neck lifted; his breath hitched. _Fuck, they were electric_. "The cup?"

He tried for nonchalant, but his voice was hoarse and a gruff murmur. "Why?"

"Because you were lost."

"That's not an excuse, not even a damn reason, Kitten."

"It's all I've got—"

"It doesn't justify—do you even know what you've done to your soul?"

His nose bumped into hers as his hands gripped her shoulders tightly. He shook her—"Do you? Do you have any idea?"

But Hermione wasn't intimidated. Her belly _pulsed_ , and her chest heaved at the strange _wanting_ that flared through her at his anger. She tipped her head back a bit, and their lips were _almost there_.

"I know. And I don't care."

She wouldn't apologize. Not for this. Not _ever_. Not as long as he made her feel this way. Not as long as he was _alive_.

"Bloody hell, Kitten," Sirius let her go suddenly, and let his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"I did the same thing you would have," she whispered. Her eyes searched his frantically. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you wouldn't have done _the same_ for me. _Risked the same_ for me."

Because they both knew that she'd risked paying the price for nothing if he hadn't truly been what she wanted—if her heart had lurched away from him for even a _second_ when she'd poured herself into the cup.

"Tell me," she pushed as she roughly grabbed his face. His breath fanned across her face, and her knees almost buckled. There was so much _darkness_ swimming between them; it was new, yet not unwelcome. That darkness was practically _addictive._ "Tell me I'm wrong, Sirius."

"You're not."

Hermione gasped, and Sirius let his hand trail her back. By admitting that, he'd admitted to something _so much more_.

They both knew it.

But Sirius let his hand fall, and Hermione stepped away—Harry's footsteps pounded down the stairs toward them.

Sirius felt the darkness swirl in his veins, beating against him like Harry's footsteps against the wooden floors. There was too much _feeling_ —he had to get away from it for a second.

"Why do you hate my beard?"

Hermione licked her lips. "It hides you…You shouldn't've had to hide."

"I _never_ hid from you."

Hermione closed her eyes, and let the peace she'd felt so long ago engulf her. That's what they gave each other—a strange sort of peace. She needed it now, more than ever, with the scars of the war etched so deep into her.

"I know."

 _I know._

She knew because she'd never hid from him either, not the darkness that always seemed so tempting or the fact that she was never truly satisfied despite it all.

It felt _so good_ to know there was one person in the world she didn't have to hide from anymore. It felt _too good_ , and Sirius's grey eyes held such promise that Hermione had to look away.

They _couldn't_ be about _that_. Not after she'd kissed Ron in the Chamber of Secrets. But the darkness in her soul told her that holding back wasn't going to be as easy as it was when she was a Fourth and Fifth Year. The heat in Sirius's eyes told her he would _let_ it be that easy. Not when he could feel her inside of him.

Nothing was ever going to be that simple again.

* * *

So, I rewrote the ending about six or seven times before I landed on this. I'm still not sure if I'm fully content with it or not—what do you guys think? Like it? Hate it? Let me know and Review! **Reviews are Love**


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